In The Heat of The Moment
by Aberdeen.Weasley
Summary: Distraught by the perils of adolescent romance, Hermione finds solace in an unlikely person.


Hello and thanks for giving my little fic a shot. I haven't written in quite a while, so I figured I'd write something to get the creative juices flowing. This fic is set in HBP.

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 **1996 (6th Year)**

It was Friday night, and Hermione found herself in the Gryfinndor common room beside Harry. He was asking for her opinion on his essay topic for History of Magic, but she could hardly concentrate on what he was saying. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ron and the wretched Lavender Brown snogging from across the room. A curious feeling bubbled up in her stomach, a strange combination of anger, jealousy, and sadness.

"Hermione?" Harry asked when he noticed her divided attention.

"Yes?" she said, dragging her eyes from the happy couple to Harry, "I'm listening."

Harry knew exactly what she was looking at, and sighed, "Listen, Mione, you can't think about it. And to be quite honest, I really do need help with this essay. I've got to write it all before the weekend is over."

Hermione couldn't give a damn about Harry's plight. She found herself imagining Lavender falling down the staircase one day, finally releasing Ron from her clutches.

"Harry, I've got to go," she said, as she began gathering her things.

"But it's past curfew. What about Filch?"

"Oh, I'm not worried. If anything I'll have my prefects badge and say I'm on duty."

She didn't wait for Harry's response and dashed out of the common room. When the painting closed behind her, she finally released the sob she had been holding back. Standing for a moment, she composed herself and began walking.

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Hermione loved the silence that fell upon Hogwarts after curfew. It calmed her to be alone with her thoughts and the echoey sound of her footsteps in the halls. The paintings on the wall were all asleep, until she came across one with two lovers. They were sitting in a beautiful impressionist-type garden, holding hands. Hermione stood in front of the painting, tears welling in her eyes as she continued to think of Ron and Lavender. She couldn't escape this feeling.

Suddenly, Hermione heard footsteps in the distance. Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She had lied to Harry. Despite her status as a prefect, she could still get into trouble being outside after curfew. If it was Filch, or even worse, Snape, she would certainly get a detention. Before the mystery person turned the corner, she pulled her wand from her robes and unlocked the nearest door.

A bright light shone on her face as she turned around to survey the room she had entered.

"Granger?" she heard a voice ask, which she immediately knew belonged to Draco Malfoy.

Before she could even think of a witty greeting, Hermione found herself really taking in his features for the first time. The light from his wand illuminated his face, his skin nearly the same color as his platinum blond hair. His usual sneer wasn't present; instead, she saw how tired he seemed. Exhausted, even.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked, arrogance seeping into his words this time.

"I'm…I'm hiding from Filch. What are you doing here?"

"That's none of your business," he paused for a moment, "shouldn't you be in the Gryfinndor common room with all the other ruffians?"

She glared at him, "That's none of _your_ business, Malfoy."

Hermione finally got the chance to look at the room. It was small, with no furniture except an empty desk and chair set in front of a giant window. Stately velvet curtains were tied to the sides, moonlight pouring onto the desk and part of the room. It was almost certainly an empty professor's office. She noticed Draco's robes hanging from the back of the chair.

"Leave," he said, bringing her focus back to him.

"Filch might be out there."

"Perhaps you shouldn't have come out this late if you were so concerned with getting caught," Draco snapped.

"I'm not concerned, I'd just rather not get detention. I'm a prefect, how would it look?"

Draco laughed snidely. He walked toward the desk, leaning on it. Hermione stayed close to the door. She was worried if he might try to hex her or something equally as cruel. She wished she hadn't chosen this room of all the places in the castle.

"Where are Potter and that red-haired freak, anyway? You're always trailing behind them like some sad little child looking for attention."

The sadness that she felt about Ron dissolved, replaced with anger in the pit of her stomach, "Shove it, Malfoy."

"Oh, I know _exactly_ why you're alone," he started, a smug grin growing on his face, "You're jealous because Weaselbee's found another girl. Brown, is it?"

His grin seemed to grow exponentially when he saw the look in her eyes. He had hit a nerve, and was ready to crawl inside her skin.

"I bet you wanted to start a family with him, didn't you? Starting reproducing by the dozen? Imagine, a Weasley and a mudblood mutt. As if the wizarding world wasn't tainted enough."

Hermione's blood was boiling. Her hand instinctively gripped her wand in her robes' pocket.

Draco continued, moving toward her, "You're jealous, Granger. It pains you to see him snoggging that idiot girl because if Weasley doesn't want you, who will?"

By then, he had reached Hermione. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. He slowly brought his hand up to her head. She couldn't bring herself to move. Angry tears streamed down her face. She couldn't tell if she was more angry at Draco or herself for being so easily provoked. He grabbed one of her curls, twirling it with his fingers.

As he tucked the strand behind her ear, he leaned toward her and whispered, "Some of us have real problems."

Hermione regained the ability to move, promptly shoving Draco away from her, and rebutted, "Like what? Having a death eater as a father?"

She swore she saw a flash of sadness wash over Draco. Never before had she witnessed such vulnerability from him than in that precise moment. She almost felt guilty for making him feel that way. But, as quickly as it began, the look vanished. He moved forward again, backing her into the wall.

"You know nothing," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"What?" she asked mock-innocently, confidence surging in her, "Are joining too? Or are you too scared and don't want to tell daddy?"

Draco grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the cold brick, "Shut your mouth."

"Make me."

Hermione was breathing heavily, surprised at her own boldness. Standing there, she realized just how close she was to Draco. They had never made physical contact before, unless her fist connecting with his face counted back in her third year.

He broke the silence, "You're trembling, Granger."

"Absolutely not, Malfoy."

The tension between the two nearly burst. Hermione could hear nothing but her own heartbeat, or was it his as well? She couldn't bring herself to think about the electricity she felt from his touch. The absurdity at the whole situation made Hermione want to laugh. There they were, Draco Malfoy pinning her, Hermione against the wall of an empty office in the middle of the night. Was he staring at her lips?

Without warning, Draco crashed his mouth onto hers. They began to kiss with the ferocity of two people who hadn't eaten in years, tearing into one another. His hands began roaming her body through her robes, her fingers through his hair. Wordlessly, Draco lifted her up, legs wrapped around his waist. He carried her to the desk, sitting her on top of it and pulling off her robes. As he began to open her blouse, he moved to her neck, trailing kisses on her soft skin. Hermione suppressed a moan for fear for being caught.

There was a crash that came from the hallway, and they both jerked away from each other. Neither said a word until they heard a high pitched laugh, belonging to Peeves. Snapped out of their moment of passion, Draco retrieved his robes from the chair and began to walk toward the door.

"Malfoy, wait…" Hermione began, but he had already walked out the door without saying anything or even sending a glance in her direction.

She sat on the desk, hair disheveled and uniform a mess, unable to process what exactly had just happened. It could have been an apparition, she mused, but even she couldn't convince herself.

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I may or may not continue this. We shall see. Anyway, thank you so much for reading this. Please help me perfect the art of writing and leave a review!

-Aberdeen


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